


Not Again

by PiratePlume



Category: The Night Shift (TV 2014)
Genre: Drabble, S01E07 Blood Brothers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-08 22:40:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1958778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PiratePlume/pseuds/PiratePlume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompted by anonymous on tumblr:  <em>"Fanfic prompt - What TC was thinking during the scene with the flashbang up until he finds out Topher is shot."</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Again

Fear, it was metallic on his tongue. Like residual smoke after gunfire, the bangs of bullets ringing in his ears, and a stinging burn in his eyes, he remembered it like it was yesterday. The way his heart hammered in his chest and picked up its crescendo, the adrenaline pumping into his veins like liquid fire. He felt jittery, on edge, his teeth grinding together and tongue swollen in his mouth.

In that moment he didn’t care if he died. It was Jordan who was important and she was the only thing his mind had targeted to protect. Topher was there too, but it was Jordan who dominated TC’s thoughts. Especially when the bastard decided he was going to take her as a hostage in order to try and leave the hospital without interference. “Come on, missy. Come on!” Urgency in his voice, Jordan held her hands up, and stepped back to go with him. There was another way out of this, there had to be. TC wasn’t going to let a violent lunatic, scum of the earth, place Jordan in harm’s way. His mind was a wild frenzy, like a hive of wasps hit with a stick, stirred and angry, looking for the target to rain hell down on. He had his target, he thought as his eyes locked onto that desperate, stupid man, but he couldn’t do anything without risking Jordan’s safety.

Then, there was a knock at the door. “Come on, Dwayne!” Came the muffled voice behind it. TC looked toward it and immediately decided that something wasn’t right. He’d been trained for this, had spent months in this state of mind that linked close to paranoia, believing that anything could be the tie that led to an attack he needed to be prepared for. A soft click, so soft no one else would have heard it unless they were on edge like he was, made his attention snap. Like a predator waiting for the stick to crack beneath the weight of its prey, TC’s head jerked toward the direction of the noise. The small square panel of the ceiling lifted and in the dim light he saw something slender and familiar falling into the room.

He didn’t think; he wasn’t even certain he breathed. Throwing his body between Jordan and the gunman was a gut reaction. The world slowed as he locked his arms around her and pulled her away from the man and toward the floor. Lying over her, pressing her to the ground, he only meant to shield her. The stun grenade went off and TC’s body seized at that familiar blast of light and sound, ears ringing, heart stilled. Vision distorted, he wavered in place, body over Jordan’s, opening his mouth to try and pop his ears so he could hear again. At first, for just a few seconds, everything was muffled as if he’d been submerged beneath water.

In physically seizing flashes, he continuously was berated by the images of his brother’s death. Ripped from present to past like one would blink their eyes. He had watched as the bullets rained into Thaddeus’ body, jerking it unnaturally before he thumped against that rickety wooden door and slid down, leaving a thick trail of glistening red behind him. _Not now_ , he prayed to his own mind, begged some god he wasn’t sure he believed in anymore, desperately grabbing for anything that could help him overcome his own psychological prison so that he could protect those he cared for.

It was as if someone pressed fast-forward; the world caught up chaotically and every sound came roaring into his ears. TC remembered other men, other enemies, the ones that had buried those bullets into Thaddeus. He remembered his brother reaching out, fingers trembling, face contorted in pain and fear as he tasted death. He remembered those lips, his brother’s lips, forming his name. Still disoriented, balance lost, TC flung himself toward the son of a bitch with rage controlling him like a puppeteer would gleefully tug its puppet’s string. Bringing his arm up while the guy was still at a loss from the effects of the stun grenade, TC used it to his advantage.

Even with a silencer the soft whistle of the gunshot echoed somewhere behind him. TC didn’t pay it much mind, he couldn’t pay anything much mind in that moment. He was a prisoner to the anger, lashing out, holding the bastard against him as he lifted a knee and burrowed it into his gut. Satisfaction was primal as it leapt into his mind, powered him onward to do more damage when the man doubled over. Grabbing him, TC shoved his body toward the metal stand, hoping he might knock his fucking face into it. Anything that would do the worst amount of damage was all TC craved in that moment.

To the hard floor they went, TC swinging his arm back to lay his fist against the guy’s skull. He felt like he was on _fire_. The connection of bone to skin raced up his arm, his jaw pressed tight together and his nostrils flared. As he went to hook another blow he was blocked and, while he couldn’t see it then, that was probably for the better. TC was gone, lost, a man without a mind. When he was removed from where he could beat the assailant and pushed against the wall it was as if he was slowly awakened.

As he “came to” in a sense, there was only one thought that immediately overpowered what adrenaline pumped ugliness had driven him to rage. “Jordan? Jordan!” His head turned, his eyes sought her out.

“I’m okay!”

He breathed. Oh, how he _breathed_. Jordan was okay. His chest heaved, panting, head still spinning. TC turned away from where he could see Jordan still crouched on the floor and instead faced forward.

There, standing directly before him, was Topher. The man who was his brother, the only one he had left. No relieved smile was on his mouth. No bright light in his eyes. He wavered, swaying in place. “Toph?” TC asked, though his chest was already expanding with fear, nostrils flaring as he drew breath inward. Never in all his life could TC have a moment of relief without being stabbed by a cold blade that whispered threats of heartache yet to come. Blood, dark and foreboding, begun to stain the blue scrub top Topher wore and then, he collapsed. “TOPH!” TC launched from the wall he’d been placed to, rushing to his side.

Jordan’s panicked cries matched the same thoughts flying in TC’s head. _No, not again, not again,_ he cursed inwardly. _No. No. I am not going to let this happen again. Not Topher. **Not Topher**._

“Somebody get a crash cart!” He was going to save him. He wasn’t going to lose another brother. Not today. Not ever.


End file.
